


Remind Me Again

by Eligh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon compliant-ish, Fix-It, Multi, Polyamory, Problems Because of TAHITI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts because Tony's sick of losing people. And because he sees the Sad Eyes that Clint watches Agent with when he thinks that Coulson's not looking, and he saw the damn picture on Clint's desk at the farmhouse. And as insane as it seems, Tony's pretty sure that 1+1+1=3. He just doesn't understand why one of those numbers seems to have been removed from the equation.</p>
<p>Now with new, expanded content!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remind Me Again

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Agents of SHIELD S2 finale, and Age of Ultron. 
> 
> Borne from me side-eyeing TAHITI and its memory rewriting techniques. And my stupid, unfeasible, undying love of Clint/Coulson. And then you guys, who inspired me to expand it a little.

~

“It’s not surprising, really,” Stark begins, and Laura jolts hard enough that she spills the tea in her hand, scalding her palm. She swears under her breath and glares at the early-morning-interloper in her husband’s office. He’s dressed in what’s clearly last night’s suit, rumpled and stubbled and backlit by the bay windows Clint installed last summer.

It’s been a quiet sort of morning; the kids are, rather surprisingly, still sleeping even though dawn has come and went. Clint’s been off training with Rogers and Nat for the last two days, and isn’t due to return for another three. Laura’s fairly certain that Stark’s little visit isn’t timed haphazardly.

Stark either doesn’t notice the death-glare she’s radiating, or doesn’t care. In fact, the entirety of his attention is focused on the small framed photo he’s holding in his both hands. Laura bristles when she spots it; this isn’t his history to dig up.

“Put that down,” she snaps, and sets aside the now-half-empty cup of tea on the table nearest the door. It’ll leave a wet mark on the polished oak, but right now she doesn’t care. “What are you even doing here, Stark?”

Stark shoots her a wry glance, but carefully returns the photo to its position of honor on Clint’s desk. It’s the one of their honeymoon, their _real_ honeymoon. An eight-year younger version of herself is flanked on both sides by her men, Clint’s light to Phil’s dark, Clint bare-chested and covered in swirling body-paint, Phil in an unbuttoned garish Hawaiian shirt that’s hanging open in the heat of the Rio summer. They’re both kissing her cheeks, carefree and happy like they haven’t been in a long while.

“I mean,” Stark says, implacable. Laura fights down the urge to clench her fists. “I always knew that Katniss was hiding something, and then there’s the surprise farm and kids and wife…” He turns back to the picture and stares at it like he can’t quite turn away. “But then I saw _this_ , which, I mean, not really the time when we were here before, because of, you know, death robots, but—”

“Why does it matter?” Laura asks, unaccountably bitter. Who _was_ he to bring all this up? “You don’t have a say in how we live our lives, Stark.”

Something dark passes over Stark’s expression. “Because he’s alive?” He gestures to the photo, and he’s not talking about Clint. Laura looks down, familiar grief strong and cloying for a long, painful moment.

“I know.”

And when she looks up again, Stark’s gaping at her. “You _know_? What do you mean _you know_?”  

“Of course I know our husband is alive, Stark,” she nearly shouts, because this is really none of his business. Still, she lowers her voice—there are the kids to think about, and woe unto Tony Stark if he wakes the baby. Still, she’s furious and so she spits her next words. “You think Clint wouldn’t tell me? You think I don’t know every single thing he’s got clearance to tell me? And half the things he doesn’t! But _Phil_ doesn’t know about _us_! And it’s—Clint and I talked and it’s—”

Understanding dawns on Stark’s face. “Safer,” he finishes for her. He doesn’t sound impressed. Laura nods miserably.

“Do you know how I met them?” she asks. Stark shakes his head, and Laura nods. “I was SHIELD. Of course I was SHIELD, it sucks you in and takes over your life and you can’t meet real people so…” she waves away her tangent and takes a breath. “I worked on the TAHITI project, amongst other things, but that was how I met Phil. TAHITI, for everything it’s ruined. We got drinks a few times and then he introduced me to his insane, best, wonderful field agent who he just so happened to be in love with and…” She clears her throat, her eyes prickling, and Stark, perhaps wisely, keeps quiet.

“Phil…” she goes on after a moment of collecting herself. “He was involved with TAHITI for a long time before it got used on him. Ten years, probably, longer than I worked on it, long past when I quit and moved up here.” She leans on the back of Clint’s office chair, the fabric stretched across its back creaking under her grip.

“The thing,” she says quietly, “is that TAHITI protocol is really very specific. It’s a… a blank slate for the mind it’s imposed on, and SHIELD needs—needed—extensive records that detailed the things it wanted to give, wanted to take…” She takes a slow breath and glances around the house, the house that the three of them made into a home, where they’d raised their children. “And SHIELD didn’t know about this place, about any of it. We were so concerned with staying safe, with keeping the kids safe, that it wasn’t—and Phil wasn’t ever supposed to undergo it, and…”

“Clint didn’t know that Fury did it, not for weeks after,” Tony adds. Laura nods.

“And by then it was too late. He was up and planning his team and the only relationship he had with Clint was the one we left in the records. Friends, if that. Competent agents, the kind of coworker you’ll drink a beer with post-mission. And me, I was just a scientist he worked with almost ten years ago, and mostly on a project that was pointedly not included in his rebuilt memories.”

“He has his memories, though,” Stark begins, but Laura cuts him off with a sharp gesture of her hand.

“No. He _knows about_ his memories. He’s been shown some of them, so remembers seeing them, and he can access those pathways with a touch more chance of success, but they’ve been… overwritten, sort of. It’s like he’s watching a movie of his life instead of being the one acting it. He knows what happened, but he’s a step removed. And if there are parts where he never saw the movie…” she trails off and shrugs.

“So Agent has no way of knowing,” Stark muses. “Hmm.” And then he fixes her with a hard look. “Far be it from me to be rude—” Laura snorts in disbelief, but Stark ignores her. “—but even putting aside all that, don’t you think he should make up his own mind? I mean, you know that Clint has to interact with him, since ‘Agent’ is now ‘Director’. And when I see them talk, it’s obvious that there’s something painful there.” He absently brushes his hands over his chest, where Laura knows his reactor used to sit. “Under the surface.”

“So your suggestion,” she says carefully, “is that Clint and I bring Phil here and show him a life he doesn’t remember? Children he doesn’t remember, but who _do_ remember him, who have grieved—who are _still grieving_ for their father? You think that _that_ would be a kindness?”

Stark narrows his eyes. She’s clearly hit a nerve. “Are the kids his?”

Offensive. Laura shrugs and answers anyway. “Coop and Lila? We don’t know for sure. Giving their coloring, Coop is likely his. Lila’s probably Clint’s. Nate, though, is Phil’s. We used IVF after Manhattan.”

Stark stares at her like she’s grown an extra head, and Laura shrinks down a little despite herself. She doesn’t need his judgment.

“How could you keep his children from him?” he asks her softly.

The question hits hard, probably because she and Clint have argued about this, just, _so many times._ She lets out an involuntary sob, and then covers her mouth with her hand, both mortified and miserable. Stark stares at her, uncomprehending, until she slowly drops her hand and raises her chin defiantly.

“How could we watch him walk away?” she asks in return. “Because we can’t do that again, _I_ can’t do that again, and, and, Clint’s been watching him since he came back, and he’s…” her eyes drift traitorously toward the picture of the three of them, so happy and innocent. Her voice drops to a whisper. “He’s changed. He’s not the same man I fell in love with. He’s not the man who rescued Clint from a firing squad, or who hero-worships Captain America, or who fainted when I gave birth to Coop.”

“Maybe,” Stark points out carefully after a long moment of silence, “he wants to be.”

~

“Dammit, Tony,” Phil says, his nose pinched between the fingers of his fancy new biometric hand. It’s shiny metal like the Winter Soldier’s, and he loathes and loves it in equal measure. “Why did you bring me to a farm in the middle of nowhere?”

“I am doing you a favor,” Tony says sharply, his voice almost strange-sounding in person and not electronically distorted by the armor. “Because family is important and I couldn’t let this go. We’ve already lost—” he stops himself, clears his throat, and his eyes flick up to the clear blue sky. “A lot. And even though Cupid might kill me, he also might kiss me, later.” He looks back over, meets Phil’s eyes, grins at wherever he sees there, and teases, “Just promise not to be jealous.”

Phil fights down an unwanted flame of heat to his face. He’s not that obvious when dealing with Clint, is he? He’s fairly certain he never shows favoritism.

And speaking of—

“Goddamn it, Tony,” Clint’s shouting, weaving his way from a barn and through the long grass of the field where they’re parked behind what appears to be a large, well-cared-for farmhouse. He’s wiping grease off his hands and his face is thunderous. “How many times have I told you, no fucking Quinjets in the alfalfa, I lose a hundred bucks every time you land that piece of shi…” He trails off when he spots Phil standing on the gangplank.

“Hey, sir,” he says warily.

“Clint.” Phil greets him with a nod. As usual, the warmth he feels upon seeing Clint’s face suffuses rapidly through his body. He ignores it awkwardly with practiced—well. Not ease. Just with practice.

Behind him, Tony snorts, and then there’s a quick shove and Phil finds himself standing in the middle of a field, the Quinjet already closing up behind him and two feet off the ground.

“Hey!” Clint shouts, looking a little panicked, but Tony’s already gone. Phil turns and they stand shoulder-to-shoulder together to watch him go, their eyes shaded from the bright sun. When the Quinjet is no more than a black speck against the blue, Phil shakes his head, resigned, and looks down.

“I’ll call in another jet,” he offers, proud as always that he keeps his voice from shaking. Being near Clint is like an itch he can’t even find to scratch, a burr on his mind. “I don’t know why he left me here. He just showed up at the Playground and…” he pauses in reaching into his suit jacket for his phone, arrested by the sight of a woman standing on the porch. He hadn’t seen her arrive.

Clint glances at him and then double-takes back to the porch. He takes an aborted step forward. “Keep ‘em inside,” he says to the woman, who nods quickly and disappears back through the porch door. It doesn’t make any sort of sense, except…

Phil rubs hard at his left temple.

A flash of someone laughing, her dark hair spread out on a pillow; Clint kissing his shoulder, his hand warm on the small of Phil’s back; a small, blue-wrapped bundle, dark eyes meeting his and a baby’s grip on his finger; Clint fitting a tiny toy bow into their daughter’s hands; the woman’s hand on his face, her eyes full of tears when he’d flown home after Pegasus—‘<i>You get him back, Phil.</i>’

And when Phil looks up, she’s joined then in the field of alfalfa. It’s swaying around the three of them, hip-high. The air smells sweet.

“Laura?” he asks, utterly unsure, and her face crumples.

~

The baby sitting on Phil’s lap is regarding him mistrustfully for all that he’s mouthing on the tip of the ring finger of Phil’s new hand. The sensation of tiny gums is faint but noticeable, and Phil absently files away the marvel that is the tech with which he’s been fitted.

The baby pauses his chewing, opens his mouth, and lets out a petite little belch. Phil, perhaps inexplicably, smiles. The little bundle of small child is adorable, and Phil wouldn’t have been one to say that he’s comfortable with babies. This one, though… there’s something about this one.

The sound of boots stomping over the porch isn’t enough to drag Phil’s attention away from the baby, but he does look up when Clint makes a strangled sort of noise when he enters the kitchen. His eyes are on Phil—or Phil holding Clint’s son—and he says tightly, “They’re staying over at the Jacobson’s,” the screen door to the porch slamming shut behind him. He’s talking about the two kids Phil’d seen from distance, careful to stay out of their line of sight, as per Clint and Laura’s emphatic instructions.

Their names rise unbidden into Phil’s mind—Cooper, Lila—and he swallows past an unexpected and confusing lump in his throat.

Clint settles into a spare seat at the farmhouse’s dinner table—Phil’d previously noted that there are five full-sized chairs plus one high chair—still covered in grease from what, Phil has been informed, is a recalcitrant tractor that lives in the barn behind the farmhouse.

Clint’s changeable eyes look haunted. Laura, sitting across from Phil at the table, nods dumbly. “Good,” she says, sounding a little shell-shocked herself. “We shouldn’t explain this to them until we’re…”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees. Phil looks back down at the baby and tries to feel like he’s not missing something vital.

“What’s his name?” he asks instead.

Clint answers him after a prolonged silence, and when Phil looks up, it’s to find that Clint’s jaw is set. “Nathanial Pietro Coulson.”

Okay then.

Considering the baby has Phil’s last name, there’s _definitely_ something Phil’s missing. But Clint’s sitreps are known for their comprehensive excellence, so Phil just smiles faintly and looks back down, gently wiggling the finger that’s trapped by the baby’s mouth. “Hey, Nate.”

“You’re just…” Laura starts to say, and Phil cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Well there’s obviously a story. I assume it’s something to do with TAHITI.” He closes his eyes for a moment, even after all these months still fighting down the urge to follow that word up with inanities about how it’s a wonderful place. And when he refocuses on the two people flanking him at the table, his smile’s a little more watery.

“I’ve discovered the hard way that my memory is not particularly infallible. And the feelings I have when I see Clint—” Clint sucks in a breath and looks down. “—are the exact same as I have when I look at you, Laura.” Phil pauses, taking in the wet sheen of her eyes. “I—” He’s not sure what to say, and eventually settles for, “I don’t know what I did to…” He trails off, inclining his head at the house around them. “But I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Phil,” Clint says sharply, and rubs both hands briskly over his face. “You didn’t fucking _hurt_ us, we just, I mean, okay, so.” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “We’re married, the three of us. Have been for—”

“Eight years,” Laura supplies softly, while Phil goes very still.

“Eight years,” Clint parrots. “We’ve got three kids. But this farm, our family: not on SHIELD books.”

Understanding dawns like a spear to the heart. “So TAHITI wouldn’t work,” Phil concludes. He feels a little ill, because something this… monumental… To have it all erased… “I see.” Nate looks up at him, blue eyes wide, and burbles a little, his fingers reaching for Phil’s tie. Phil lets him have it, baby spit turning the silk a darker shade of grey.

“We’ve…” Laura clears her throat and goes on. “Phil, we’ve got pictures…”

“And marriage certificates,” Clint adds. “Um. You and Laura got hitched in Venezuela, me and Laura in Hong Kong, and we were planning a civil thing here in New York for, um…”

“For you and me,” Phil picks up smoothly. Clint and Laura exchange a worried glance. Phil’s aware that he’s not reacting appropriately, too outwardly calm for such news, but at least he’s not hyperventilating and panicking like he did when he found out what had happened to him after New York. To be fair, he feels a little like crying right now, but he doesn’t really want to scare the baby.

He instead swallows past the growing lump in his throat and stands, smoothly handing baby Nate to a wide-eyed Clint. “I need…” he pauses, looking out a wide window toward the swaying field of alfalfa. “A moment.”

Clint and Laura’s faces fall identically, and alarmed, Phil reaches out. He doesn’t want to… to lose any chance that he may have. Rounding the table quickly, he brushes his palm down Clint’s cheek and then leans over and busses a kiss to the top of Laura’s head. The small gestures seem to go a long way toward relieving them, as Laura tangles her fingers briefly with Phil’s and Clint leans hard into his touch.

“I believe you. I don’t need to see marriage certificates, or at least, I don’t need them for proof. Maybe I could look at them to help me… um. Try to remember.” Phil doesn’t think it will actually help, but he really needs to just… breathe for a moment. He smiles wanly at them both. “But it’s a lot to take in, and maybe if I walk around a little, it might jog my memory? I assume I helped maintain the farm.”

“Yeah,” Clint agrees, and then hesitantly volunteers, “You spent a lot of time with the chickens?”

“The chickens,” Phil muses, still fighting down the panic. “Okay. I’m going to go see the chickens, and then I’ll be back. Could we look at some pictures together, then? It might help.” He looks away, still not really believing it. He knows intimately the kind of memory loss TAHITI inflicted upon him. “Well, it probably won’t. But I might remember something. Videos, too, if we have them.”

“We have some,” Laura says softly. “I’ll pull them up.”

“Okay,” Phil says, and then practically flees out the back door.

~

“He seems…” Laura’s watching Phil walk slowly and deliberately toward the chicken coop, one of her hands tight-fisted on the kitchen curtains.

“He’s in shock,” Clint says softly, smiling down at Nate, who’s making increasingly annoyed whines, his chubby hands grasping hard on Clint’s t-shirt. He’s certainly not going to ask Laura to feed him right now, so he goes through the motions of fixing a bottle filled with pumped milk, and she shoots him a grateful smile before refocusing her attention outside.

Once the baby’s happily suckling away at the bottle—he’s almost old enough for solid food, and Clint has a vivid and painful flash of memory of Phil’s look of utter shock while trying to coax sweet potatoes onto an unsuspecting baby Lila—Clint chances a look outside, too.

Phil’s standing stock-still just inside the chicken enclosure, one hand extended and scritching gently behind one of the hen’s waddles. The bird’s mostly hidden behind a post, but Clint’s pretty sure that it’s Spot, their first. The one Phil brought home with a wide smile and promises of fresh eggs.

“Do you think he’s going to stay?” Laura asks.

Clint doesn’t answer at first. Phil’s life now is very different than the life they’d led before New York. It might be… hard. “He’s the director of SHIELD,” he says softly. “I can’t remember a time in the last year that he hasn’t been working. He’s always in the field, and he puts himself in danger and…”

“He let himself get stabbed,” Laura points out, and if she sounds slightly bitter, Clint doesn’t blame her for it. “And now he’s missing his hand.”

“It’s a lot of injury,” Clint observes, even if he doesn’t precisely agree with the ‘let himself’ bit of her statement. He turns to look at her, something sick settling in his stomach. “Hon, do you not want…”

“No!” She says quickly, her eyes wide. “God, Clint, of course I want him back! He’s…” she turns again and looks out the window, crossing her arms defensively over her chest, her gaze suspiciously watery. “It hurts to love someone this much. And you both are so…”

“We have dangerous jobs,” Clint murmurs. “But you know I’ve taken a step back. Phil might…” he doesn’t complete his thought, because he has no idea what Phil will do. He’s been wondering for months just how much someone’s memories make up who that person is, and he’s no closer to an answer now than he was when he found out that Phil was still alive.

In his arms, Nate lets out a sleepy snuffle and burps out the air from his milk before burrowing his head into Clint’s side. Clint smiles a little; he loves this baby so much. “I’m gonna go put him down,” he tells Laura softly. She nods distractedly and continues staring out the window.

~

Laura can hear Clint singing softly in the nursery, his sweet baritone voice imploring their youngest not to make it bad, to take a sad song and make it better. In the yard, Phil’s settled against the low fence that surrounds the chicken coop, leaning on it heavily, his grip tight on wood posts that he and Clint spent an afternoon bickering good-naturedly about before she came out and distracted them.

He looks lost.

The guilt’s clawing at her chest. They should have _said_ something when they found about TAHITI, but who could they tell? Fury’d known about the farm, but only peripherally, in that it existed and there was someone on it who Clint wanted to protect. Clint and Phil weren’t exactly out at work—not as bi, and certainly not as poly. The whole _point_ of the farm was secrecy, because who could possibly hurt them when they were together?

“We shouldn’t have…” she whispers softly into the quiet of the kitchen. “God, Phil, I’m so sorry, but we didn’t know what to do.”

In Nate’s room, Clint starts in on the _na na na_ ’s. Outside, Phil hangs his head and takes several deep breaths, and oh, god, he’s crying.

Laura can’t take it anymore. She jolts into movement, out the back door and clattering down the steps off the porch before she’s even consciously decided to move. Her feet are bare but she doesn’t notice the dirt of the farmyard under her toes, concentrated instead on Phil, on touching him.

He gasps in a breath and hastily tries to wipe his face as she approaches, but she ignores his self-protective gesture. She’s seen him cry before, though he doesn’t do it often. “Oh, Phil,” she whispers, folding him into her arms. He’s taller than her by over half a foot, but he comes easily enough, burying his head against her neck, his hands tight on her back.

“The best I have is déjà vu,” he tells her thickly, muffled even further by her clothes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s—I won’t be enough, I’m so—”

“What?” she asks, distressed. Does Phil think—does he think they won’t _want_ him?

He pulls back, his hands clenching reflexively on her hips before he obviously forces himself to let go. His eyes are red, but his jaw is set. “Despite everything you’ve—” he winces minutely and corrects himself. “We’ve? Done, here. Despite everything, you and Clint are… well, the other Avengers talked about how solid your family was when they saw them. Or, well, Steve and Thor did, but…” he trails off, his face pained. Laura’s never seen him so thrown. Phil’s always been the solid one, the man she and Clint leant on, who always knew what to say.

“Phil?” she prompts softly. “It’s—”

“You had your reasons for not… telling me,” he interrupts, his eyes downcast. “I’m sure they are excellent ones. I understand if you… that you don’t want…” He finally looks up, and concludes his thought while meeting her eyes head-on, like he always does, brave man. “That you don’t want me. A memory-impaired workaholic with a death wish isn’t much of a partner.”

And then he smiles, like he’s letting her off the hook.

“You absolute asshole,” she says forcibly. Laura’s peripherally aware that the back door is creaking open quickly, but she’s abruptly too furious to register it, and smacks an open palm against Phil’s chest. “You complete, utter idiot!”

Phil looks shocked. “I—”

“We didn’t know what to do,” Clint interjects, suddenly there by her side. His face is pale and Laura wonders how much of Phil’s confession he overheard. “Phil, you gotta understand, was I supposed to just come up and kiss you? Fuck, Phil, the first time I saw you after New York, you railed at me for five minutes ‘cause I wasn’t around when you wanted a sniper for some op! Did you not notice that I looked horrified when you didn’t even… when you just, I was just an asset, right?”

“We were so scared, Phil,” Laura says, her voice shaking. “We didn’t know about TAHITI until later and we thought, I don’t know what we thought—”

“Life Model Decoy?” Clint suggests.

“The Asgardians?” Laura asks.

“Some other Nick Fury fuckery?” Clint concludes.

“And then when we finally found out what happened,” Laura tells Phil, who’s bouncing back and forth between them like he’s watching the world’s worst train wreck of a tennis match, “it was too late, you were already gone with your new team, and the kids were grieving but we couldn’t get ahold of you and then—”

“Fucking Hydra,” Clint says earnestly.

Phil nods dumbly, and licks his lips. “They, they do seem to throw wrenches in the best laid plans…”

Laura swallows hard. “Phil.” He looks at her with wide eyes and she reaches out, desperately needing to feel his skin under her hand. His cheek’s rough; he probably missed shaving this morning because Stark kidnapped him out here. “Phil, honey,” she whispers. “We love you, and we did you wrong. Being scared isn’t an excuse.” Next to her, Clint’s guiltily hanging his head, but he’s reached out too, tangling his fingers with Phil’s. Laura feels a surge of relief when Phil lets him.

“Please stay,” Clint whispers.

“I’m not the same,” Phil says weakly, and Laura’s heart breaks a little more, because they were idiots and now Phil thinks that this whole mess of situation is his fault.

“We don’t care,” she says hotly. “Phil, I love you, Clint loves you. We—” but then it’s clear that Phil’s not listening because Clint’s let go of his hands and is kissing him, Phil’s face trapped between Clint’s strong hands, both their eyes closed and Phil hitching little surprised breaths. The kiss lingers—Clint has always been a thorough kisser, and better at expressing his emotions physically—and when they finally break apart, Laura takes her opportunity and lays one of her own on Phil’s shocked face.

The stubble-rough feel of his lips under hers are something she never thought she’d get again, and now that she has it back, like hell if she’s letting go.

“Okay,” Phil breathes softly once they part. His shell-shocked look is fading a little, replaced with familiar resolve. It’s a welcome sight. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Thank fuck,” Clint declares, winding one arm around Laura’s waist and one around Phil’s. He yanks them all close together, a comforting triangle with her men that she’s missed so. much. Clint presses a closed-mouth kiss to Phil’s temple and tightens his fingers on Laura’s hip.

“Let’s go inside,” she suggests.

Phil smiles and says, “Yes, ma’am.”

~

**Author's Note:**

> I've got some headcanon about how Cooper and Lila react to their Pop returning, but it wouldn't come. Suffice to say that Lila's little enough that she just misses her Papa, but Cooper's been acting out 'cause he's almost eight and he doesn't know what to do with all this anger he's got in his head. And then Clint's all, 'kids, something wonderful happened,' and then Phil gives big, emotional hugs and calls them special nicknames that he doesn't really remember but yet somehow does, and then Cooper starts crying from the happy, and Lila's crying 'cause Coop is crying, and then they do a big family hug and everybody lives happily ever after the end.


End file.
